if death had hands and legs
and come at home at sharps hours
to pour water in the wine in the cup
if it rocked in the rusted swing in front of the block of flats
and wrote poems after midnight
(of course, about death)
if it matched the handle of the scythe with its’eyes colour
if it madeup with stellary powder
and dyed its hair in the colour of my soul
if it played chess without using fake queens and kings
if it paid all its taxes to the state
and if it read the Critique of Pure Reason
or 20.000 seas as large as a mile
if it were a student and got a scholarship
which wouldn’t be enough to pay the rent
if it left the complete CV
because so far we haven’t found out what sex is death
if it were more educated and listened Vivaldi
or my fall over the doorstep
if it knew the smell of the warm skin
of the women that holds you in her arms so tight
that you no longer know who you are more: you or her
if it knew how afraid you are at night
after you read the saints stories about demons possession
all by yoursel (like in a cave)
if this uneducated death (y have said it before)
too intelligent, rude, diplomatic and what else you want to call it
if death knew what it means
to cry of sun of flower of moon of water
of nobody that buries you alive
if it woke up in a countryside bus in the morning
carrying it in smell of sweat to unknown destination weekly
if it made snow castles when it were a child
and its toes froze
waitin for a absent-minded friend
if it obeyed the code of good manners
and if it didn’t come uninvited
and when somebody invites it
it will realise that in fact he doesn’t call it
if it got married
to leave us alone we who become its
grooms and brides by force
if it went to school and passed all the exams
except chemistry and sports
(it holds all the records for speed weight length width)
if it too knew to laugh sometimes not only at us
if it held in its palms the still warm body
of a kitten driven over by a car
then really
what kind of death wold that be?